The Newlywed Game
by bourbon
Summary: After a whirwind courtship and wedding, Woody and Jordan go through a period of adjustment. 70 percent fluff, 30 percent angst! FINISHED
1. Married

She guessed it all started the night he had told her he was going to stop pressuring her about their relationship. Something about the way he had said it, something about the way he had held himself. She had told him it was "self-actualized," but really, it was just strong and confident and sexy as hell.

Somehow, suddenly, he had ceased to be the goofy, gangly kid from Kewaunee she had met at that bank robbery several years earlier, and he had become a man, and one that she knew she wanted to be with.

So, in typical Jordan Cavanaugh fashion, the minute she fell in love with him was the minute he told her he would stop pressuring her to fall in love with him.

After that, it had been kind of a whirlwind. First date, first tentative kisses, first blissful night wrapped in each other's arms. Then, after nine month of being almost inseparable, he had slipped a ring on her finger on Christmas Eve.

She had opened her mouth to say no, she wasn't ready yet, but she was surprised to hear herself say, "yes."

Their brief engagement was much like their courtship, and they spent the next weeks in a dizzying rush, trying to finalize wedding plans and..._househunting._

It had been Woody's idea to give up both their apartments and buy a house. Jordan had agreed, somewhat reluctantly, and found her evenings and weekends filled with endless tours and open houses.

The realtor had found a house she just _knew_ the happy couple would love, and Jordan left work early to meet Woody there. It _was_ a nice place in a neighborhood not too far from where she had grown up.

They stood in the middle of the master bedroom. Woody waited until the real estate agent excused herself so he and Jordan could talk.

"So? What do you think?" He walked around the empty room, his shoes echoing against the hardwood floor.

"I don't know...'' Jordan turned a small circle. "I like my apartment. Why can't we just stay in my place?"

He sighed. "Because," he started in a weary sing-song. "Because it's barely big enough for one person let alone two. Because I'm not the kid from Kewaunee with twelve-hundred dollars in his pocket anymore, I'm a man who's about to get married. Because I want a home. _Our_ home, Jordan."

She wrinkled her nose and strolled around the room. "It's all right."

"All _right? _Jordan! Look at this place!" He stretched his arms out. "It's a steal! It would be a bargain at twice the price!"

"And did you bother to ask why the price is so low? It's probably built on Indian burial ground or something. You know, I think I feel a cold spot right here..."

He laughed and planted a kiss on her forehead. "Jordan, I know you've some reservations about this homeowner thing, but this house is everything we've talked about. It's in the city, so neither one of us has to quit our job. The neighborhood is safe, the schools are great..."

"Schools? Woody, we've talked about this, and you know I'm not ready for kids, yet."

"Hey..." He took each of her hands in his. "That wasn't a hint, Jordan. I promise. I just want us to be prepared if, _when_, the day arrives, okay?"

She gave him a wan smile. "Okay."

"And, come on. You've got to admit. This place is great. Hardwood floor, huh? Did you check out the jacuzzi tub in the bathroom. Pretty sweet! And hey...did you see this?" He opened the door to the massive walk-in closet.

"Nice. But where's _your_ closet, Woody?"

He smiled and nodded appreciatively. "Well, I take it from your attempt at humor that you're maybe warming up a little?"

She rocked her head back and forth. "It's not bad."

"Not bad. I can work with that." He slipped his arms around her. "So, what's the verdict?"

She sighed and kissed him quickly. "Call her back in here."

Woody grinned and called out for the agent, who scurried back in expectantly. "Well?"

Woody grabbed Jordan's hand and squeezed it. "We'd like to make an offer."

They had married two months later, on St. Patrick's Day. She wore green.

After Woody rejected the idea of having their wedding in the morgue, they had been married in front of their family and friends at the bar where they had their first real date.

Then, they had embarked on a week-long honeymoon in Hawaii where they had hardly left their hotel room. They had spent most of their time curled around each other, where she learned every inch, every ripple of her new husband's body. He was beautiful, and she found herself falling more and more in love with him every day.

It was a wonderful week: the culmination of a long and winding relationship that had led them here. She had never thought she could be so blissfully, magically happy.

And then they returned home and reality set in.

And she discovered several things about married life:

Jokes become exponentially less funny with each retelling.

Men seemingly have some genetic inner-ear flaw whereby the speaker must repeat everything three times in order for it to finally sink in.

Personality traits that seem "cute" and "quirky" during the courtship become, upon marriage, really annoying.

Really, _really_ annoying.


	2. A Period of Adjustment

She sat at the kitchen table with her newspaper and her coffee at 7:30 on a Saturday morning. It hadn't been too long ago that weekends were a time to sleep until at least 9AM, roll down to the corner Starbucks in a pair of sweats for a leisurely cup of coffee, and then home for an afternoon nap.

Now, she was a married woman, a homeowner, and Saturdays were spent in weeding and painting and roaming the aisles of Lowe's with Woody looking for just the right widget for whatever D.I.Y. project he was tackling.

She sipped at her Maxwell House and longed for a tall mochachino when Woody padded in. He was still heavy-lidded, and his hair stuck up in eighty different directions.

He was in his usual morning attire a pair of striped boxer shorts and nothing else. She had always enjoyed this display when they were dating and he would spend the night. There was something insanely sexy about this man with the body of an underwear model wearing a pair of stodgy, old-fashioned boxers. Now, it just seemed vaguely unhygienic, him rummaging through the refrigerator in nothing but his underpants.

"Morning," he finally mumbled and flopped into the chair with his bowl and box of Captain Crunch. They sat silently across from each other at the breakfast table. She watched him eat his morning cereal as he stared intently at the word jumble on the back of the box.

It was like this almost every morning. She would read the paper, he the back of whatever box of kids' cereal they had. Then the peaceful silence would be broken as he took a noisy, slurping spoonful, followed by this _sound_, sort of a painful clicking sound he would make with his jaw. Then she would sink back into her paper only to be interrupted again.

_Slurp. Click click click click._

She glared up at him over the top of her paper.

He looked up from his box. "Something wrong?"

"No."

His eyes fell back down to the box. _Slurp. Click click click click._

"Could you not do that?"

"Do what?"

She folded the paper. "That _sound_ you make when you eat cereal. The slurping and then this _clicking _sound."

He looked at her, baffled. "Does it bother you?"

She paused before replying. "...Yes!"

"I can't help it." He looked down sheepishly. "I lost my retainer in the move, and now my jaw is all out of whack."

"Well, then you need to make an appointment with the orthodontist," she said, unfolding her newspaper with a snap as she added under hear breath, "That doesn't explain the slurping."

She kept her nose in her paper and wondered whether the silence that followed was due to his attempts to improve his breakfast table etiquette or his being engrossed in the cereal box puzzle.

"This Wednesday is the 4th of July. I've got off all day. What do you want to do?" he finally said.

"We've got that 4th of July barbecue at the neighbors' house."

He snapped his fingers. "Oh, yeah."

"Hey, I'd much rather do something else, but you already told them we'd come and that I'd bring a side dish."

He sighed in exasperation. "Yeah, I know, I know. I'm sorry. It just seemed like the neighborly thing to do. And I'm sorry I volunteered you to bring a side dish. I've apparently set the women's movement back a hundred years. _I'll_ bring the side dish, how's that?" He plunked his spoon down in his bowl, sending a spray of sugary milk across the table.

"Hey, it's no big deal. I'll do it." She dropped her nose back in the paper and the silence continued.

For a moment. And then:

_Slurp. Click click click click._

"You're doing it again!"

He jumped up from the table and dumped the remains of the bowl into the garbage disposal. "Oh, for Pete's sake, Jordan, I'm sorry, okay? I'm sorry. No one has been this interested in my table manners in a long time, all right? My mom wasn't around, and my dad...Cal and I could have eaten with our feet and he wouldn't have cared. It's a bad habit, and I'll try and stop."

She looked up at him then, a bit stunned. He was trying to appease her, but his voice was angry. "Fine," she said evenly after a beat.

He glared at her for a moment and then stormed out of the kitchen and up the stairs. She sat and stared at the space where he had been standing and then resumed reading the newspaper. Finally, she carefully folded it and put it down after five failed attempts to absorb anything in the paragraph she had been reading.

What had happened? How had she gone from over the moon in love to bickering about the way her husband chewed his food in the span of four months? It was all normal, right? Part of some period of adjustment?

She felt more than a little guilty, then. He had brought her flowers the night before, for no reason at all. She had raced him upstairs to the bedroom, and they had made love while dinner burned in the oven. Now she was finding fault over the least little thing.

The worst was that it had stirred childhood memories for him, too, and she saw him suddenly as a sad, motherless boy. She put her cup in the dishwasher and hurried upstairs. He was sitting on the end of the bed looking down at the floor. She sat down next to him and laid her head on his shoulder. "I'm sorry," she whispered.

"I'll try and stop the slurping, okay?" he said quietly.

"It's all right."

"You know one of the last things I remember about my mother? She had been in the hospital for weeks, and they finally let her come home. I was four, and I was in nursery school, and I just wanted to spend the day with my mom. But dad said I couldn't stay home from school because mom already had her hands full with Cal. So, I gave the school bully my juice money to pop me in the face. I got a bloody nose, and they had to send me home for the day. My mom made me and Cal spaghetti-o's, and we sat together at the kitchen table and just laughed and talked." He smiled wistfully at the memory, but it faded quickly. "She went back in the hospital a few weeks later and never came out. Anyway. I was just thinking about her."

She smoothed his stubbly cheek. "I know."

They sat that way for a long moment. He reached out for her hand and held it to his heart.

"Well, I guess I'll hit the shower," he finally said. He rose from the bed and slipped off his boxers before entering the bathroom. He tossed them across the room and narrowly missed the clothes hamper. She rolled her eyes. How could a man who played pick-up basketball twice a week with some guys at the precinct always fail to miss the hamper with his shorts? She resisted the urge to nitpick and tossed them in herself.

Things were fine. It was just a silly argument. She would end it the way newlyweds always ended arguments.

She slipped off her robe and opened the shower door.

"Hey? Want some company in there?" She ran her finger suggestively down his chest.

He grinned and pulled her in.


	3. Fourth of July

_Here are the next three chapters. They are a little angsty...but I think it's a pretty safe bet that it will be happy ending!_

XXXXX>

She was standing at the foot of the bed when he came in, looking at the array of clothes that she had spread out in front of her.

"You're not ready?"

She looked up at him. He was wearing a pair of khaki shorts and an untucked Izod shirt. She always thought she would end up with some moody, tortured artist or musician who always wore black and seldom shaved. Instead, she had married an eternally cheerful cop from Wisconsin who wore loafers with no socks.

"I can't decide what to wear. What do people wear to these suburban barbecues?"

He crossed to the bed. "We're not in the suburbs, we're technically in the city. As long as you cover your tattoos and piercings, you'll be fine. "

"You're not helping."

"Here." He picked up a dress she had worn on their honeymoon. The cut was soft and feminine, but the bold print was bright and funky. It was pure Jordan. "Wear this. You'll look great. Don't worry."

She dressed hurriedly, and they crossed the street to the neighbors'. She grabbed his hand as he pushed open the gate to the backyard. The men were standing by the grill with beers, and their pretty, polished wives sat on the other side of the yard in folding chairs with wine coolers tucked into the cup holders. Children of all ages ran wild, screeching and yelling.

Jordan took a deep breath and headed toward the wives' corner. The hostess stuck out her hand. "Hi! I'm Barb Howard. You must be our new neighbor."

"Jordan Cavanaugh. Nice to meet you," she took Barb's limp hand.

Barb titled her head. "I could have sworn the other day your husband introduced himself as Woody Hoyt."

"He did. I use my maiden name."

"Oh, _really?_" Barb flashed her a phony smile.

"Where are your children, Jordan?" another of the wives asked.

"We don't have any yet. We've only been married for four months."

"Well, don't wait _too_ long, dear," one of the women offered. "It gets harder and harder when you're over 35."

Jordan said nothing but flashed a phony smile to match the others. She was relieved when another woman entered the back yard and broke the awkward silence.

"I brought my world-famous triple fudge brownies!" She noticed Jordan sitting there with her hands tensely folded in front of her. "You must be the new girl. Jordan Hoyt, is it?"

Jordan was about to smile resignedly and say yes, but Barb interrupted. "Hoyt is the husband's name, but Jordan's one of those _feminists," _Barb laughed her phony little laugh. "She goes by Cavanaugh."

"So, what do I call you then?" The brownie lady smiled and batted her eyes. "_Mrs._ Cavanaugh? _Miss _Cavanaugh? Or I guess it's _Ms._ Cavanaugh."

"It's _Dr. _Cavanaugh, actually. And Jordan would be fine."

"Oh, _really_?" She flashed the same artificial smile that Barb seemed to permanently wear. "How _nice_."

"These brownies are to die for! You _must_ give me the recipe for these!" one of the women asked.

"Well, the secret is the sweetened condensed milk," the brownie lady whispered, and all the women aaaaaahed as if one of the great mysteries of the universe had been revealed.

Jordan sat there for a while in silence with a forced smile on her face. Finally, she excused herself, but no one seemed to notice as she stood and made her way back through the gate and across the street. Woody found her curled up in their bed a half hour later.

"Hey! I had no idea where you went. I told everybody you had a migraine."

"It was _awful_," she said, and he knew from her voice that she had been crying. He sat down on the edge of the bed and rubbed her back.

"What happened, Jordan?"

"Those women were horrible. I've never felt so out of place. Talking about lasagna recipes and karate lessons and 101 uses for sweetened condensed milk. I can't do it, Woody."

He stroked her hair. "I know it's hard, Jordan. This is all new to me, too. But give it a chance, okay?"

She sat up in bed. "I'm afraid I'm losing myself, Woody. I'm afraid I'm going to become this other person, this person who goes to Tupperware parties and drives a station wagon, or worse...a _minivan._ I can't _be_ like those women."

He kneeled in front of her on the floor and looked up at her. "I don't want you to be like those women, Jordan. I love you the way you are. I love _you_." He brushed her hair out of her darkened eyes. "_You_. Only you."

She smiled down at him. "I'm sorry I left you there by yourself."

He rolled his eyes. "Golf! Those guys were talking about golf! What do I know about golf?" They both laughed, and he kissed her gently. "Barb sent over a plate of food. Maybe when you take the plate back, you could make amends and invite her for a cup of coffee."

Her mouth fell open. "Did you hear any of what I just said?"

"I'm not asking you to be her best friend, Jordan. It's just a cup of coffee. If we're going to be neighbors, we've got to get along. You never know when we might need them."

She jumped up and threw her arms over her head. "Unbelievable! If you want a Stepford wife, you married the wrong girl!"

"What? Where did that come from? Who said anything about a Stepford wife? It's just coffee!" She turned on her heel and crossed to the bathroom. "Jordan, where are you going?"

"I'm going to take a bath."

"Come on, Jordan. Don't walk away."

But she closed the bathroom door behind her and turned on the water. She stood with her ear pressed against the door, waiting for him to come and knock softly and call for her to let him in.

He didn't. She heard the bedsprings creak as he rose, and then there was the sound of his footsteps against the hardwood floor as he left the bedroom and went downstairs.


	4. Lunch with Max

She dreaded lunch with her father. She dreaded seeing any of her old friends, really. She hated the way they would kid about the "lovebirds" and then inquire how she was enjoying newlywed life. She hated smiling a fake smile and telling them what they wanted to hear.

The truth was, she was miserable. Every little thing he did was starting to grate on her to the point where even the sound of his voice was like nails on chalkboard.

Woody seemed happy enough. He was patient and caring and as in love with her as he had ever been. Her emotions, on the other hand, ran from frustrated to guilty to just plain angry.

Mostly, she felt lost and bewildered. She had convinced herself this was all part of the period of adjustment. But what if her feelings _weren't_ normal? What if they had made a horrible mistake?

She put on a smile as she entered the restaurant for her weekly lunch date with her father. He had returned to town for Jordan's wedding that spring and had never left. Things were still strained between them, but they were trying. These weekly lunches were a way to reconnect, and it was working. She was learning to trust him again, and they found they actually enjoyed being in one another's company.

Max was already there when she entered, and she crossed to the table and kissed him lightly.

"Hey, sweetheart! How are you? Am I a grandfather yet?"

"Dad, _please..._"

"Just asking! Just asking! But, you know, neither one of us is getting any younger..."

"Dad, _stop_, all right?" she snapped.

It was how they started every conversation, and the baby banter was usually good-natured, but he knew from her voice that something was wrong.

"I'm sorry, Jordan." She didn't respond but stared down at her menu. He started to babble breezily to change the subject, but her mood never seemed to lift.

Finally, he touched her hand and asked, "Everything okay?"

"Everything's great, dad."

"How's married life?"

She poked casually at her salad. "Fine. Great." She looked down and exhaled. "Not so great." She buried her face in her hands for a moment.

"What's wrong, Jordan?"

"Ahhhh. I don't know. Nothing. Everything."

"Talk to me."

"I'm supposed to be in love, right? We're newlyweds. The whole first year is supposed to be one big honeymoon. Why is it I can barely stand the sight of him? Why is it that everything he does drives me insane?" It was not the kind of thing she would usually talk to her father about, but the floodgates had been opened, and it spilled out of her.

"First of all, things rarely go the way they're 'supposed' to go. Second of all, where did you get the idea the first year is supposed to be one big honeymoon? What cheap dime store romance novel have you been reading? And third of all, my guess is you're not going through anything that all newlywed couples don't go through."

She shook her head. "I don't know, dad. What if it's not that? It's just all happening so fast. Suddenly, I'm this _housewife_, and I don't' recognize myself anymore. I mean, what if we rushed into things? What if I was looking for something that just isn't there?"

Max sighed heavily. "You and Woody weren't exactly starry-eyed kids when you got married. You were adults. I gave you away on your wedding day, remember, Jordan Marie? You were clear-eyed and sure of yourself. Nothing's changed. Not really."

"But..."

"But nothing. I know your mother and I weren't able to give you a very good model, but we had good times in the beginning. Before she got sick. Marriage isn't all moonlight and roses, let me tell you. It's hard work. It's about give and take. It's about commitment. It's about thinking of someone besides yourself. You want my advice? Go home. Go home to your husband and count your blessings. If the biggest problem you have in your married life is whether or not your husband leaves the toilet seat up, then be grateful."

He looked away, and Jordan knew he was thinking about her mother.

"When things got bad with mom..." she started quietly. "Did you ever consider leaving her?"

"Divorce was not an option."

"Because of the Church."

He shook his head emphatically. "No. Being Catholic had nothing to do with it. I didn't leave your mother because I _loved _her. Because I took a vow in front of God and our families to love her forever, for better for worse. I wasn't going to tuck tail and run when things got bad. What kind of man would I be? I _loved_ her."

The waiter dropped the check on the table, and Max snatched it up.

"Dad, I got it."

"No, no. I'm still your father, and I can take my own daughter out to lunch, can't I?"

She smiled and kissed him on the cheek as she rose from the table. "Thanks, Dad."

"You're welcome. Now go home."


	5. Having it Out

She wanted to take his advice. She really did. But when she returned to work after her lunch date with Max, she had four new files on her desk. On the way home, the skies opened up in a torrential downpour, and traffic inched along. The driveway was dark when she pulled in, and she stepped in a puddle on her way into the house. She stumbled inside late, wet and tired.

Woody was sprawled out on the sofa watching TV and eating potato chips. "Hey, sweetie, you're late."

"Yeah. Nice of you to turn on the porch light for me," she mumbled.

He smacked his forehead. "Aaaah! I'm sorry. I forgot."

She walked around to the back of the sofa. He was watching what appeared to be a home video of a man running around in the yard trying to pull an arrow out of his backside. Woody laughed uproariously.

"What are you watching?"

"_America's Funniest Home Videos._"

"'Cause nothing says funny like watching junior shoot dad in the ass with a bow and arrow." She threw her bag down on the floor for emphasis.

"I thought you liked this show."

"No, _you_ like this show."

She flopped in the armchair and watched him. He burst into side-splitted laughter at some new video and crammed a mouthful of chips into his mouth. The crumbs dropped to his bare chest and down into the seat cushions.

And then he reached into the bag and took another handful of chips, and she watched as the crumbs fluttered down again. It was like this for five minutes, her blood pressure rising as he sat glued to the TV, chomping away, sitting in a pile of potato chip crumbs.

The program cut to a commercial for a local steakhouse. She cringed and held her breath. She knew what was coming. It was just a matter of time. She waited, and then:

"Did I ever tell you my story about that place?"

She exploded. "Yes! Yes! Yes! You told me your story about that place. Over and over and over again. Every time we pass it, every time the commercial comes on. How it was the first place you ate when you came to Boston and you found broken glass in your French onion soup and they gave you a free meal and a gift certificate for 50 but you've never used it blah blah blah BLAH BLAH!"

He looked up at her, incredulous. "What is _wrong _with you?"

"Look! The chips! You're shoving chips in your mouth and blowing the crumbs everywhere and then licking your fingers and sticking your hand back in the bag! It's driving me _insane_!"

He pointed to the bag with innocent eyes. "What this?" He reached in the bag and shoved a handful in his mouth and crunched furiously, sending the crumbs spewing across the room. "Does that bother you?"

"I can't believe you did that!"

"You think you're the only one around here who isn't annoying? You know what? You're _really_ annoying! First of all, you put the toilet paper roll on wrong. Every. Single. Time. It faces out, not in. And speaking of bathrooms, every time I open the closet in there, I get hit in the face with a box of one of your _lady things_ for your _monthlies_. I mean, how many of those things do you need? You got super, you got regular, you got wings, you got no wings. And you know what else? Your feet are really weird. You got that little toe with no nail, and it curls up onto the top of your foot. And you're always asking me to rub your feet, but to be honest, it grosses me out."

She jumped up. "Oh, my _God_! You are so shallow! I'm annoying because my _feet_ are weird?"

"_I'm_ shallow? You were ready to ban me from the breakfast table because my jaw annoys you!"

"That's totally different!"

The phone rang. He clapped his hands over his ear and crossed the room to pick it up. "Blah blah I am not listening blah blah."

She continued on while he answered the call, something about his snoring and failing to put the lid back on the toothpaste.

She couldn't hear him over her rant, but then he finally turned to her. She stopped, and her heart fell when she saw him there, grim faced with his hand still on the phone.

"Jordan...it's the hospital. It's your dad."


	6. At the Hospital

She moved around the hospital in kind of a fog. Woody led her by the hand, and she was aware that he was speaking, talking to nurses and doctors in hushed, serious tones.

Finally, they stopped outside of a door into one of the rooms. Woody took her shoulders gently in his hands and spoke. "Jordan?" She shook her head slightly as if to wake herself from sleep. "This is your dad's room. The doctor says he's asleep. And he's on oxygen, so I just want you to be prepared, okay?"

She reached out for his hand, and he took it. She looked up at him in fear. "He's going to be okay, Jordan," he reassured her and led her into the room.

Despite Woody's warning, she could feel the tears well in her eyes at the sight of her father in the hospital room. He seemed so fragile lying there in a tangle of wires and tubes. It was a heart attack, the doctors said. He was lucky; it had been mild, but she cried the silent tears of a child who has suddenly been faced with the mortality of an aging parent.

She sat in the chair beside his bed and rested her hand on top of his and watched him sleep for a moment. "I should have taken better care of him."

"It's not your fault, Jordan."

"I saw the kind of junk he's been eating, and I never said a word. At lunch today..."

He cut her off gently. "Jordan, Max is a grown man. He's responsible for his own choices. He'd tell you the same thing himself." He stood there with her for a long while, and then she felt him lift her up. She collapsed against him, and he slipped his arm around her waist. "Come on, Jordan. Let's get you something to drink."

They sat out in the hallway and he held her while they waited for Max to wake up. The even rise and fall of Woody's chest and the steady beating of his heart were comforting. He stroked her back and spoke to her in calm and soothing tones until the nurse came out of Max's room and told them that he was stirring. Jordan jumped from her chair and ran in.

His eyelids fluttered open as she crossed to his bed.

"Jordan..." His voice was weak, but his eyes were bright. "Am I a grandfather yet?" She laughed and smiled down at him.

"I must be really bad off. You didn't sock me in the nose."

"You're going to be fine, Dad. Just no more bacon double cheeseburgers, okay?"

He sighed mournfully. "Okay, okay. Where's Woody?"

"He's out in the hall. He's been here the whole time."

"You know? I was thinking about you right before I collapsed."

"Oh, great."

He shook his head slowly from side to side. "You had nothing to do with it, Jordan," he said with a small smile. "I was thinking about our lunch today, and I was thinking about you...how determined you are. You never quit."

She snorted. "Where have you been for the last ten years of my life?"

"No, I was thinking about when you were in college and you were failing organic chemistry. You had to pass, or you were afraid you'd never get into med school. So, you came home for spring break. All your friends were going to the beach, and you locked yourself in your room with your books, living on caffeine and corn chips because all you ever wanted to do was be a doctor. And every weekend that semester you'd come home while your friends were all out partying. You made an A in organic chemistry, if I'm not mistaken."

"A plus."

"You never quit when something really matters to you." He gave her hand a squeeze, and his eye lids drooped.

"Get some rest, Dad," she said and kissed his forehead before he drifted back into sleep.

She walked back into the hall to find Woody waiting anxiously there. "How is he?"

"Good. He's resting. Look, I'm going to stay here tonight. There's no point both of us being exhausted. Why don't you go on home?"

He took her hand in his. "I'm not going anywhere, Jordan."

She could no longer keep the tears back, then, and she fell into his arms. He whispered soft words to her and held her until the tears subsided.

He didn't go anywhere, not that night or the next day. Not until Max sent her home that afternoon. He stayed with her, sensing when she needed him to talk and when she needed him only to hold her hand.

They drove home together. Exhausted, she entered their darkened bedroom and climbed into bed without bothering to undress. He stretched out beside her and curled himself around her, stroking her hair and laying gentle kisses on her shoulder.

She loved him. She loved him completely, and she finally understood what people meant when they said they loved so much it hurt. It _did_ hurt, because when you love that strongly and that deeply, you understand how fragile and fleeting it can be.

She turned to him. He propped up on one elbow, and they looked at each other wordlessly for a long moment before he leaned forward and pressed his lips questioningly against hers.

She responded with building urgency. He eased her onto her back and slowly unbuttoned her shirt, leaving a trail of kisses along the hollow between her breasts and down her taut belly. She let out a little hum of pleasure as he tugged at her pants and pulled them off in one motion.

The trail continued down the curve of her inner thigh to the spot behind her knee that always made her go limp. He moved his knees to either side of her hips, then, and he pulled his shirt over his head as she worked at his belt buckle. His eyes didn't leave hers as he lowered himself and slipped gently inside her. She moaned softly and curved her body to his.

She lost herself; all doubts and fears faded. And later, as she lay in his arms, she smiled up at him, and he wiped away one stray tear with his thumb.

It would not always be perfect or easy, but it was good and true.

She _loved_ him.


	7. New Beginnings

_Here's the last chapter. Writing this story sure brought back a lot of memories! I hope it didn't scare any single readers too much:-). Just keep telling yourself...the first year is the hardest!_

XXXXXXX

She walked in the house with a gift bag and called out to him. "Woody? I'm home! Where are you?"

"In here!"

She turned the corner into the dining room. The room glowed with candlelight and two places had been set. He pulled a chair out for her as she slid in.

"You've been busy. Something smells wonderful," she said appreciatively.

"Chicken marsala and garlic herb bread I made in the bread maker we got for a wedding present."

"We got a bread maker for a wedding present?"

"Aunt Jean and Uncle Bob."

"Ah."

"Happy Anniversary, Jordan."

She reached up and pulled him in for a kiss. "Happy Anniversary."

"I've got a present for you." He pulled a box from his chair, and she opened it. She looked at it unmovingly for a moment, and then a curious smile played across her face.

"A bikini."

"I thought maybe later this summer, August or September, we could maybe go down to Mexico or Jamaica. Kind of a combination anniversary/birthday present. I've already talked to the travel agent, and there are some great deals coming up."

She looked up at him with that same enigmatic smile. "I think you'd better open my present."

She reached into her bag and passed him his anniversary gift.

"A bottle of champagne?" he said with a creased brow.

"That's just part of your present. Open it up."

"Jordan? What are you up to?"

She shrugged and smiled as he popped the cork and poured some into each of their glasses. He lifted his. "To the end of our first year of marriage. Thank God it's over."

She laughed and clinked her glass against his. "My thoughts exactly. To the end of our first year of marriage, and to new beginnings."

"New beginnings," he said, and she watched as he took a first sip.

He pulled the glass away and finally looked closely at the bottle. "This isn't champagne, Jordan. It's sparkling cider."

"I know." She grinned and reached out for his hand.

"I don't get it."

"I don't think I should be drinking."

"Why not?" He sat there with furrowed brow. "Are you on cold medication?"

She sighed lightly and tried another tack. "You know, I love the bikini, but I really don't think it will be my style in five or six months time."

He frowned and shook his head. "What do I know about fashion, Jordan?"

She laughed and rolled her eyes. "_Woody!_ Think!"

The phone rang, and she looked down at the caller ID. "It's my dad. He's probably calling to wish us happy anniversary."

Finally, it was as if a lightbulb went on over his head. He looked at her with widened eyes and gave her a slightly queasy smile.

"Jordan?" he gulped. She nodded with a radiant grin and answered the phone.

"Jordan! Happy anniversary, sweetheart. It's been a year now. Am I a grandfather, yet?"

She took Woody's hand and placed it on her belly. "Yeah, Dad. You're a grandfather."

THE END


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